Fairytale Alive!
by Pandora3
Summary: By reading a very special book (she ought to know better in the magical world) Hermione has been whisked away into the fairy-tale of Childe Rowland. Now it's up to her knight in shining armour to save her; and what will happen when she finds herself attra


The black daze that clouded over her mind gradually disappeared, and she felt as if she was a creature of the seas swimming upwards from great depths; unknowingly in her sleep she arched her back as she dreamed she swam upwards and, finally, broke the surface, gasping for air and exhausted. But victorious. "Dumbledore!" Hermione cried out in obvious relief upon seeing the old man by her bedside, when she awoke. She was sure now that whatever mess she had stumbled into would soon be cleared up, and that is a very comforting thing to know when you're in trouble, after all. But Dumbledore just screwed up his eyes at her over the upper edge of his spectacles and shook his head slowly with a little sigh, and his eyes were everso sad, and Hermione was beginning to wonder whatever could be the matter to sadden him so. "Look ye, child," he said, and his tone was so very serious as it had ever been, "I know not whom it is you cry out so for, but I'd advise thee to immediately quieten lest thou enrage our kingly king." He shuddered before he darkly continued: "And woe on man or beast that does so." At which point Hermione began to sniff and her whole face scrunched up horribly and she put her hands to her eyes and cried. "Oh, but I am lost! And oh, but I am so miserable!" She cried out again, irritated with the way her words kept coming out in this flowery manner even so while she wept in vain. The old man who was Dumbledore, and yet not Dumbledore he claimed, reached out hesitantly and patted her on the head, nodding sagely. "Ahh. But now to sleep, child, lest thou wilt for sure, as I have advised thee 'gainst, wake our kingly king from his kingly rest in his kingly bed in his kingly room with your poor concerns." Hermione's face twisted into a small smile at that, and she dried her eyes. Then she heaved a little sigh. "Ah, but alas! I know not this king, and I know not where I am. Where am I?" She pleaded to the old man. 'I'll be sure to tie my tongue into a knot if I shall have to keep twisting myself into this most horrid way of speaking every time I open my mouth,' she thought, and grimaced. The old man looked around warily, before he lowered his voice into a whisper. "Child, child, do hush! Burd Ellen, Burd Ellen, do hush!" At this whispered reprimand, Hermione blinked. Being one of the cleverest witches to ever set foot on Hogwarts, she soon figured out that by 'Burd Ellen' surely must the Dumbledore-not mean her. She blinked again, before in the back of her mind she began to understand why the name rang so familiar in her ears… "That's better; most certain a goodly improvement!" He nodded his approval, and then, in the blink of an eye, the old man had risen and left the room, leaving also Hermione (or shall we say 'Burd Ellen'?) to her own company and devices. She hummed slightly, as the whole memory finally came to her. It had been that odd book! She had found it in the Hogwarts library of course, and it was a recount of Muggle Fairy tales, only these were collected in England (and some from Lowland Scotch) and the book went by the so very boring title as; "A sum-up of English Muggle fairytales". She had only picked it up in the first place because she had done some amateur research on that very subject, and she could dimly recall having read just those fairy tales as a child but then of course in a muggle book. Or perhaps someone had told the nursery-tales to her; she couldn't quite remember and in her current position it was probably not important anyway. Now, to make a long story short -mind you we don't have forever- there had been a tale named "Childe Rowland" and in it had been— "Oh! Oh!" She exclaimed excited. Then, she began to hum a most familiar tune, and in a low voice began to sing what she could remember of the ballad. Or namely, what she could remember of the beginning, for no more of it was mentioned in the rest of the tale that was of course in plain text and not song. "Childe Rowland and his brothers twain, Were playing at the ball And there was their sister Burd Ellen In the midst, among them all. Childe Rowland kicked it with his foot, And caught it with his knee; At last he plunged among them all O'er the church he made it flee. Burd Ellen round about the aisle To seek the ball is gone But long they waited, and longer still, And she came not back again. They sought her east, they sought her west, They sought her up and down, And woe were the hearts of those brethren, For she was not to be found." She ceased her singing there for that was in truth all of the song she knew, and that was just as well lest she had –as she had been so thoroughly warned against- woken the kingly king from his kingly bed in his kingly room and awakened his kingly rage upon her a thousand and yet a thousand times over. She again smiled wryly and actually chuckled, seeming now more amused than irritated. But then she turned serious. "I know where Burd Ellen went.." She said to herself and the room –but probably mostly to herself in particular- and absently twirled a brown lock about her finger. "Is 't possible I went the same way? Well, yes, so I suppose it should be… hm… Yes," she said then at last, "I am certain it must be so! Burd Ellen went around the church 'widershins' - that is, the wrong way. And she was whisked off to the realm of the Elf-king, Fairy Land, and I am sure that so have I been!" She sat up excitedly, and practically jumped off the bed. Only to, sort of in the middle of the jump, find she was dressed in a long dress that very much hindered her from exercising these kinds of numbers and she ended flat on her stomach and face-down into a fluffy, pale red wall-to-wall carpet. It was in a gaudy style that –judging by the amused looks she sent as she looked about herself closely for the first time and in spite of her somewhat precarious situation- the king or whoever decorated this room, must find very impressive. She rose to her feet as graciously as she could (with some painful and embarrassing moments involved) and walked over to the mirror in massive gold on one wall. It was far, far larger than her; in fact it was so large it nearly made it seem as if it was in fact a mirror with a wall rather than a wall with a mirror. Hermione's brows arched amusedly as she observed herself, and even gave little twirl (it ought to be mentioning she seemed to be having a very, very hard time keeping from laughing out loud all the while, biting her lower lip and screwing her eyes shut in pure mirth and what not.) What the mirror showed, was herself dressed in a gown going mainly in gold, with blood-red vertical stripes. The section just under the bosom was heavily adorned with mother-of-pearls, and pink pearls embroidered into an intricate pattern. Hermione idly wondered how on earth they had managed to make the pearls pink, but then she shrugged. The fabric were bound to be satin for it was mostly was in cheesy happenings like these, Hermione concluded, but then again, she had never been that very good at those things. Even she could tell however, that the upper part of it was in velvet. There seemed to be a whole lot of lace involved at several different places –and especially at the collar- and big, yellow daisies was splattered all over the skirt. (Not real daisies of course, they were all just part of the pattern.) At the waist – which she noted looked so much thinner and frail in this thing - there hung strings in an eclectic blue colour. They were tied into a rosette at her back, she discovered in one of her twirls. It should be noted that whenever she turned or moved the skirt oscillated enticingly. That might also have been the only thing that was enticing about it. Whoever had designed this gown, or decorated this room, seemed to have been deadly determined to flaunt his or hers so very bad taste into other beings faces in form of these very extravagant objects (if a room can be an object). A knock to the door distracted her from her musings, and she called "Come in," without thinking. After all, this was her room and therefore she should invite whomever inside even though she did not live her and might be bought to her death at any moment, she reasoned. The door was opened and she turned her back on the mirror, eyeing the entrance warily. A young man entered, with his head bent down. He had the strangest colour to his hair, it was purple! (and it clashed terribly with her regally orange-red walls) He bowed, and then straightened up. With a shock, Hermione realised his ears were pointy. But, most of all, his skin was a dark blue colour! She had not seen it at once for his purple hair was in the way, and he wore dark-green gloves. The rest of his attire down to the soft leather boots that adorned his feet in a most medieval fashion, also went in tones of green. "Lady, the supper has been prepared, and thine presence has been requested by our—" "…kingly king?" Hermione interrupted, and at first he seemed surprised but then he smiled, and nodded slowly. She was a little taken aback at that, she did not think this people could smile, judging from the Dumbledore-man who yet claimed he was not Dumbledore. She shook her head slightly, she should not dwell on that now, for this was sure strange enough already. She cocked her head to one side, and watched him with narrowed eyes. He looked nice enough usually, she supposed, but his smile was radiant. With a small shudder of pleasure, she found herself attracted to the very fact that his skin was blue. He had a pleasant voice, not shrill or gruff or too commanding. It was melodic, with a nice, lilting quality to it. Hermione curtsied gracefully, finding that in ending up in a fairy tale she at least had enough grace for that even though she might not be such a grace when she climbed out of beds. Then, giving him a shy smile back, she stepped forward and took the arm he offered her. "I'm Her—" She stopped, biting her lip. "I'm Burd Ellen," she told her cavalier with a splendid beam that he amusedly returned, and her heart fluttered precariously in her chest. She made a mental note to remember to very seriously scold and reprimand her self for feeling like this; feelings weren't the sort of thing she was to have. Or at least not feelings like this. She was cool, collected Hermione, the smartest witch Hogwarts had seen in a long time. She was caring for her friends, yes, and she was friendly to more or less everyone. (The Slytherins being the 'less'.) But no further than that her feelings shouldn't go; Hermione Granger -the bushy-haired muggle-girl- having a romance? No, no, surely that was not to be. But this… Sure, she had had feelings for guys before. But of course she always repressed those feelings. But for this… man, if you could call him that, (male being would probably server better that little Hermione-efficient voice that always wanted perfect, always had perfect, and always knew the answers to everything told her in the back of her head, but all the other little Hermione-voices recently come to life from long sleep shushed it) whom she had only just met, she felt… she felt… "A most blessed meeting, lady," replied he and inclined his head slightly to her. "I go here by the name Terraleranbioousarirrt, but if you should like –for I believe this might suit your earthly tongue better-" he said with a small laugh at her blank look when he said his name, " you can call me Terry Boot." As this Terralera—whatever laughed, Hermione felt herself blush and on the inside she was lost. She realised that what she really most of all wanted to do with this Terry Boot was to push him up against the wall there and then, ravishing his mouth with wild kisses. She squirmed uneasily, and when he smiled at her again she noted in a flash that he had gleaming, perfectly white teeth. Pointy, looking very sharp teeth. It made her squirm even more uneasily (though she did her best for him not to notice) when she found those same teeth made her even more wanting. She briefly considered licking her lips for she did not think he'd find her fairly attractive if drool suddenly started dribbling out of the corners of her mouth; but she decided against it and finally settled on just ogling him out of the corner of her chocolate brown eyes. He had red eyes, she noticed dreamily and decided on the spot that red was her new favourite colour… "Yes, yes," she said weakly, more a whimper than a reply, "I'm sure, that Terry will be better than, uhh… yes, whatever you said." They continued down the hallway leading to the dining room, she supposed. (The walls a dark blue with silvery torch holders that sparkled, but oddly enough no torches.) In the torches place was a peculiar construction; it looked more like three soap bubbles of various sizes that had been crammed together and placed into these torch holders. Inside each clear-as-crystal bubble danced little sparks from a more and more consuming fire that shifted in all the colours of the rainbow. "How beautiful they are, but how peculiar, too!" Hermione breathed, and pointed at one of them. She had immediately taken liking upon the things, and her amazement must've showed in her face. Terry turned and peered at one with a strangely attentive look on his face, as if he had never before looked closely upon the things that spread a good and well light in the otherwise dim corridor. There were no windows there, and Hermione felt that maybe she should in fact be thankful for that. "Yes," Terry agreed quietly, "perhaps they are peculiar to you." Just then, the flames of the fire in the bubble they were currently admiring blazed everso high and strong as they might, and then, the fire died down completely. The bubble in turn, at once exploded! "Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, slightly frightened as it all happened so quickly. But then she felt somewhat saddened, and she asked, "Is it gone now? Never coming back?" "Yes, I suppose so." Terry shrugged, but then he dragged Hermione on down the hall. "Come now, the kingly king will be upset at our tarrying for sure!" She threw one last longing (but at the same time sad) look after the beautiful bubble that was now lost, but soon she was happily ogling the handsome man next to her. ('Male being!' her little Hermione-efficient voice chided her fiercely, before it was politely told to shut up before it was brained.) So they came at last to what Hermione would in all her time come to refer as merely 'the dining hall' with a little shrug; but in truth there was just a little bit more to it than that. The whole palace (or a palace she thought she was in at least) seemed to have the same decorator, and the same designer of the interior. A lot of words could be said to sum up the Great Hall, and two of them were 'excessive' and 'clashing'. The walls all went in lurid turquoise, all the furniture (except for a huge, clumsy throne that looked extremely uncomfortable under it's regally pale red clothing.) in neon green (this caused some brief amazement for Hermione; that thousand-year old beings even knew these extreme shades was truly astonishing) and the folks gathered… well, the females were all dressed in pastel-coloured things with stripes and what not - just like her own dress though they seemed to think hers was the grandest - , and the males in some trousers –that must've fallen out of fashion several hundred years ago– with huge puffs about the knees, and below that soft black leather boots. A short velvet caftan with broad sleeves (that left the chests bare which seemed to delight all of the... ladies at least) and for some reason or other a cloak finished up the outfit, and they all pranced about like peacocks. Oh, and of course, the men had those silly hats with plumes that courtiers used to find so necessary, and that made them a public joke. Hermione shook her head amusedly; this seemed more like a ball than a dinner for the strange creatures -all with pointy ears and sharp teeth and various skin-colours in probably every colour from neon green to the deep blue of her own companion- were dancing and eating and laughing and singing and jesting each other, and all at the same time! Some were eating, some were dancing, some were playing music on a bandstand that actually just were a place where the stone floor (White marble?!) had been raised a few inches. And, oh, oh, there was a flautist playing his flute and it looked to be made of silver and she thought 'How very pretty'. And she said so too, to her companion, and he laughed and shook his head. "Watch," he said in a hushed whisper, and pointed at the flute. And at first she saw nothing at all, but when she looked closer, Hermione gave a gasp and recoiled. She threw wild-eyed an eye on Terry, to find he was chuckling. He nodded, and in that lilting voice of his (that all of his folks seemed to possess she realised now) confirmed what she suspected. "Yes," he said, sounding rather amused, "It's made of human bone. What did you expect, little Burd Ellen?" And he smiled and in doing so his sharp fangs showed and oh, oh, her heart fluttered so. But she had yet to remind herself of how they obviously looked upon her kin since he could be so negligent, but yet she felt herself attracted to him. It was very confusing, she concluded. She was left no further time for ponderings though for just then there came a ringing flourish that apparently called them to the table and even the ones dancing left know and seated themselves. As Hermione was guided to her place, she was told from all possible directions how very lucky she was. She got to sit by the king. What she herself thought of this she did not say out loud, but one look on her grim expression should have been tell-tale enough. When she sat down on the right side of throne, she looked to her left of course, and found herself staring right into the one she normally knew as… "Malfoy," she hissed through gritted teeth, but the king did not appear to catch that, and she caught on soon enough that it was probably for the best if she tried to behave herself. This wasn't, couldn't possibly be, the real Lucius after all. No, she registrated in a brief look the second later, it couldn't possibly be Lucius though she felt she certainly wouldn't have been surprised had it been. The king of Faeries wore a black velvet tunic, it seemed, and under that a clinking chainmail; she could smell it quite clearly. Hermione wrinkled her nose, it smelt like a kitchen full of rusty pots. She understood better than to cover her nose with the perfumed handkerchief she had quite surprisingly found in her hand; the man who looked just like Draco Malfoy's father were eyeing her coldly enough as it was. She noted that pink skin did not suit him well. Then, she let her eyes wander around, after inclining her head deeply to the kingly king, and what she found both shocked her and shocked her not at all, for she had almost been expecting something like this. They were all there; huge Hagrid stood silently behind the king; Harry and Ron (or what looked like them at least) was seated at one of the more favoured high-tables. (the tables were spread out according some sort of rank-system for all she could understand. She was the only one human there, she also saw.) Ginny, the twins, even Percy, were there. Cho, Cedric, Hanna Abbot. Justin Finch-Fletchley and several, several more. Oh, and incidentally, Draco Malfoy was seated on the other side of the throne. He bore the usual Malfoy sneer on his face, but in his case the pointed ears and sharp fangs and… Hermione blinked, before she quickly looked away as to not giggle right into his face. Draco Malfoy with luridly pink eyes and pale purple skin! Surely this was a sight! Never mind that upon his head he bore a large, jewelled crown; she felt as if she would never fear him again! The food was brought in, and when she lifted the little silvershade that covered all the plates she found to her great surprise a large cream cake with vanilla fudge buried inside and artfully piped with green candy. Next to it stood a crystal-goblet, filled to the brim with a clear, honey-coloured liquid. It tasted like nothing she had tasted before (and nothing that you'll ever taste either) and the liquid stung a little and nearly brought her into a coughing fit with the first sip, but it was all heavenly. And if she thought this small meal, a mere appetizer was strange… (but oh, how delicious!) well, then she was going to be greatly surprised at the dishes that would appear during the rest of the banquet. (for so Hermione had taken it, though in truth it was just a normal dinner really.) -------- 


End file.
